


Cetera Desunt

by brevitas



Series: Leader of the Muses [10]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Greek Gods AU, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:48:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras goes to get Grantaire back but he may be too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cetera Desunt

Valjean is in his throne room, as he often is. He's feeding scraps of meat to a golden eagle that is the size of a dog, and the bird watches them as they enter the room. Nothing has to be said; Valjean had felt Grantaire's passing as they had, a cold touch and a remarkable stab of pain for a relative lost.

"No," he says as he faces them. "I cannot."

There is no reason for them to come apart from this favor and Zeus knows it; he does not have to wait to hear Enjolras' petition, because he himself has been thinking of any possibility of retrieving his son. He knows that he cannot, though, and that is what has stopped him from going down to the Underworld himself.

"Father," Enjolras says as he moves forward, his face impeccable. "Please."

The room seems much smaller; the men present shift. Enjolras does not beg; he fights for what he wants, oftentimes violently, sometimes with words and sometimes with fists but never with pleas. Valjean grimaces and he strokes the head of his eagle to have an excuse to look away when he says, "I cannot. I gave my oath to Javert that I would not ask for another."

"Fine." Enjolras straightens. "I will go myself."

It is not entirely unheard of but Javert never grants mercies to those who ask; he is a man of order, and he is never willing to step outside that to please another. Combeferre frowns but he knows better than to try and stop him; Enjolras will feel better after he has done this, he figures. Maybe he'll calm once he accepts that there is nothing more he can do.

So nobody impedes him when he teleports himself to the gates of the Underworld, which is a perfectly lukewarm temperature and quiet as a tomb. The souls are not fond of speaking although he can hear music from the distant Elysian Fields and farther on, laughter from the Isle of the Blessed. He walks to Javert's fire and brimstone palace and steps inside unhindered.

He does not have to look far to find Hades. There is a desk in the front living room and he is standing behind him, garbed in solemn black robes that suit his unreadable expressions.

"I suspected you would come soon." He says upon seeing Apollo. "Though you are astoundingly quick. I only just finished getting Dionysus settled in."

+++++

Grantaire looks for exits when he's left alone in Asphodel Meadows, and recounts the past under his breath as he walks. Charon has forced him to drink water straight from the shallows of Lethe and the river of forgetfulness is not kind; he knows soon memories will begin slipping, and he desperately tries to grasp them tighter lest they go.

The souls watch his searching curiously and from afar, but none speak up to tell him that there is no way out. He glows more than they do, pulsates with some inner fire, and the bolder ones drift closer to see but all of them are careful not to touch. He looks like he'd be liable to lash at them if they interrupt and he is muttering to himself quite madly anyway, so they keep their distance and watch.

+++++

"Settled in?" Enjolras echoes, and frowns. "What does that mean?"

"It means he is not leaving," Javert says shortly. "Charon has already given him water from Lethe."

Enjolras does not need to be reminded what this means; all the gods have heard the stories. The souls that come down here each drink a cup of the dark water and they forget their mortal lives so that they may move on from them--it is the thing that all gods fear. They have lived for so long that to lose the past would be unthinkable.

"I need him back," Enjolras says instead, because if he thinks about how Grantaire might have forgotten him already he'll lose it. "I will give you anything, Javert."

Hades frowns and sits down, smoothing out his toga. "And this is not a request from your father?"

"No. He did not want me to come down here at all, and told me that he could not do so himself because of a deal with you."

"You come of your own volition?"

Enjolras nods, and Hades looks thoughtfully out his window, his mouth pulled down into a frown. "I must warn you--he will be different."

+++++

The specifics are the first to fade.

Grantaire cannot remember the lyrics to the old Latin songs Eponine sings in the shower; he cannot remember the flavor of a victory cigar shared with Bahorel when he comes home after a particularly rousing fight.

He forgets if the old story of Persephone and Hades actually happened or if it was a trick they played on Jehan when he refused to whisper tales in the historian's ear; he forgets the way Courfeyrac falls in love, headfirst and recklessly.

He forgets how Enjolras speaks, and the world listens. He forgets how passionate he is, how he touches people when he's excited, how he smiles and it feels like turning to face the sun.

Grantaire continues looking for an exit and repeats, "Enjolras will come for you," over and over again.

+++++

"I don't care," Enjolras replies fiercely. "I want him back."

Hades nods. He doesn't need the soul terribly badly, he thinks; Dionysus had been a prankster in his life but not evil, and a single exception for Apollo would remind Valjean that he could be granted no more. It seems like a sensible way to best his old opponent.

Javert says, "He's in Asphodel Meadows."

Enjolras turns to the door and he calls out after him, "Take him when you find him, Apollo, and remember that I will not allow this again!"

+++++

Next he forgets names.

Remembering what his brothers currently call themselves is impossible; he stops trying to hold on to that and turns to their appearances instead, is assured that he can at least still recognize them.

But not longer after their faces become blurry and Grantaire has difficulty remembering what gender each wears these days; is Athena still a woman? She was once in the 40's, slender and black, but that fact catches and disappears too.

He comforts himself by mumbling their names under his breath, the old ones, the ones the mortals laid at their feet. Persephone, Eros, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, Pan, Asclepius, Ares, Athena, Hermes, Artemis, Apollo--

Yes, there is one he still remembers. It occurs to him that he called Apollo Enjolras once but that too dissipates; he edits his mantra in favor of something simpler and falls back to saying, "Apollo will come, Apollo will come, Apollo will come."

+++++

Enjolras saws a path through the souls, and cares little for those he rudely shoves that linger too long. He's merciless and his desperation colors the air; eventually the souls understand his urgency and move willingly, shy away from him when he passes. At another time, he might have softened his approach; but he is running, and he has only so much time, and he's praying that Grantaire has not forgotten.

He sees the distant glint of a light and slows, tries to peer through the partially ethereal spirits to find the source and his chest tightens when he catches evidence of a bowed head. The curly dark hair is unmistakable; Grantaire has yet to tire of it and wears it in every form (Enjolras has never said this before but he thinks he's in love).

He runs faster.

+++++

Grantaire sits listlessly on the ground surrounded by souls and cannot remember what his family called him. This does not trouble him; he cannot remember his family either, and it strikes him as fitting that they forget each other.

He rubs ash-gray dirt between his fingers and wonders idly about the mantra he keeps whimpering, a reflexive streak of words that surprise him with their force. "Apollo will come," he says, tests the words in his dry mouth and for a moment, something stutters--something familiar and soft.

He licks his lips and forgets it, for it is not important; he cannot remember who Apollo is, after all, and nor can he find the energy to care that he is coming.

+++++

"Grantaire!" He shouts wildly, crushing hundreds of little Asphodel flowers in his wake. "Grantaire!"

The man does not move; the head does not lift. Enjolras knows he has not mistook him and feels his heart sink but he's never been one to give up. "Grantaire!"

There are souls clustered tight to him, no doubt hungry for the light he produces and Enjolras pushes them out of his way. It is only when a soul nearly falls on him that Grantaire looks up at all, and he's mouthing something that looks like "Apollo" so Enjolras is euphoric. _It's alright_ , he thinks. _He remembers_.

"Grantaire," he says again, and takes his hands and pulls him to his feet. He comes willingly, smiling, and Enjolras kisses him urgently. He's drowning and Grantaire kisses him eagerly back, slides one hand around his waist.

"I was worried," he admits when he draws back, sets their foreheads together. This close Grantaire's eyes are endlessly blue (how has Enjolras never noticed that?). "That you'd forgotten."

And Grantaire smiles and shakes his head, says, "As far as I know I haven't," and it sounds so much like him that Enjolras lets himself believe. He smiles and looks at him, reluctant to let go, and Grantaire remarks indolently, "You know, I don't get kissed by many strangers."

Enjolras stops. He tightens his fingers on Grantaire's jaw and breathes, "...what?"

"I mean, no offense or anything," he goes on, misreading the panic in Enjolras' eyes. "You're a talented kisser; it's all good over here." Enjolras releases him like he's been burned and Grantaire cocks an eyebrow, watches him quizzically. "Maybe I should back up." He holds out a hand. "I'm uh... actually, I don't really know what they call me. I think it started with a... d? Or an g, maybe."

"Grantaire," he says and it feels like he's suffocating. "Your name is Grantaire. Your old name is Dionysus."

He snaps his fingers and nods, says, "Yeah yeah, that sounds about right," and Enjolras thinks about how sad Javert had looked when he said he would be different and tries not to feel too devastated.

"I'm here to take you home," he says quietly.

Grantaire looks curiously at him, and smiles. "Home?" He repeats. "That sounds nice." Enjolras starts walking and he falls into place beside him and it's so achingly familiar that he wants to pretend it's the same. "Where is that?"

"Mount Olympus," he replies, and Grantaire whistles.

"Wow, that's cool. A _mountain_." He says it like a child might, the sort of glee that someone new to the world experiences with every boring artifact. "So do you live with me?"

"Yes." Enjolras stops at the gates and turns to face him, and Grantaire is smiling broadly at him like he's the best thing in the world. He feels like his chest is being slowly crushed. "When we walk out of here your soul will return to your body; it may be... strange, as you're fairly bloody, but I'll be right there."

Grantaire nods obediently. "Thank you." He's about to step through when he stops and says, "Wait, I never caught your name. What was it again?"

"Enjolras," he says, and shakes the proffered hand.

Grantaire is looking curiously at him, his head tilted a few degrees to the right, and he asks slowly, "We know each other, right? Judging from the way you kissed me, anyway."

Enjolras nods.

"You said I had an old name, yeah? Do you?"

"Yes." Enjolras gestures him to go through but Grantaire lingers so he gives in, sighs. "It's Apollo."'

He's startled when Grantaire snaps and nods, like a puzzle piece just fell into place. "Yeah, I thought so. I swear that I was saying your name a while ago but I don't really remember why." He shrugs, says, "Oh well, I guess it's not important," and steps through.

Enjolras takes a minute to compose himself, because a quiet spark of hope has settled in the bottom of his chest and he does not want to extinguish it. _We can do this_ , he thinks. _Not all is lost_.

**Author's Note:**

> here we go dual update here's the second part  
> yes so no cliffhangers I hope you all liked it, I don't know I did but you know what they say about narcissism (something like it blinds you, dunno all I can ever think about is Echo)
> 
> title is 'the rest is missing'. suiting, yes?
> 
> tumblr is idfaciendumest if you want to follow/ask
> 
> oh oh and shout-out to dejabloo because atm she is my muse and she's an absolutely lovely individual and special kisses for her
> 
> kisses to everybody you're fabulous individuals and I love you all


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